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Elephants Go To Grad School

By DEBRA A. KLEIN

Published: March 8, 1998

THOUGH the ''Elephant Crossing'' sign is posted prominently along Highway 107 in northern Thailand, the main entrance to the Chiang Dao Elephant Training Center is not. My husband, Brad, and I zoomed past it and onto a ceaseless stretch of hairpin curves. Fearing we'd end up in Myanmar, we braved a frightening three-point blind turnaround and steered our rented Jeep into a wide patch of dirt that, to our relief, delivered us to a shack selling tickets. The first show had already begun.

One of many working elephant camps in northern Thailand, Chiang Dao Elephant Training Center is an hour and a half north of Thailand's second largest city, Chiang Mai. Guidebooks indicated that most visitors arrive by bus or private tour from Chiang Mai for the morning show, leaving the site virtually abandoned in the afternoons -- a boon for independent travelers. So, on a steamy Saturday last May, we decided to brave the unyielding, drive-on-the-left Chiang Mai traffic for a chance at adventure outside the urban jungle.

Elephants have long enjoyed special status in Thailand, appearing in temples, art and architecture, and even on the former national flag. Their past wanderings helped determine the location of more than one important holy site in the kingdom. Even today, rare white elephants (actually pink in color) are often presented to the royal family in Bangkok as gifts

Yet their numbers are ever dwindling. One hundred years ago, more than 100,000 roamed Thailand freely. Today, fewer than 3,000 live in the wild of national parks, and another 4,000 log and farm the land. With full-scale logging operations in decline, trainers and their elephants on the outskirts of Bangkok reportedly make their living begging in the streets (walking under an elephant is considered good luck), but their rural relatives still earn money hauling wood, even if it's just for the benefit of tourists visiting the regimented training camps in the north.

Just $1 (at 42 baht to $1) got us through the gate and onto a swinging bridge over the calm Ping River. We hurried along a root-tangled path to the amphitheater and joined a group of French tourists already fanning themselves against the blistering heat. We grabbed seats on one of many wood benches terraced into the hillside, and leaned forward to watch the show.

Much in the way students in public schools across a state learn the same curriculum, working elephants in northern Thailand are taught the same set of logging skills. It can take up to 20 years of training before an elephant is ready to haul logs in the forest.

Mahouts, their lifelong trainers, sit atop the elephants' heads or necks and steer by pressing their toes behind each ear. Some maneuvers require fine tuning, and the men squirm and wriggle right down the elephants' trunks to get what they want.

And what they want is nothing less than perfection, as we saw at the log-hauling demonstration. To start, three young females rolled a teak log across the stage and onto a pile in perfect unison. We were all impressed. But then a fourth elephant approached. First backing up, then inching forward, this warmblooded bulldozer maneuvered the log tirelessly, until the cut end aligned precisely with the rest.

The team went through its paces silently, efficiently, like soldiers running a drill. Only the smallest ever addressed us, letting loose a trumpet of accomplishment to punctuate her finished task.

From the amphitheater, the elephants lumbered slowly to the river, gracefully threading through stands of bamboo. They seemed oblivious as we passed within inches of them before fanning out along the banks to watch bath time in the Ping River.

The group lay down in the water and became giant toddlers, surrendering their limbs and bellies to be scrubbed, all without a wayward splash. But when the largest stood and extended her trunk into the water, the crowd quickly backed off to higher ground. Cowering behind bushes and plastic bags to guard against our worst fears of childish misbehavior, we were treated instead to a skilled performance. The female blasted her snoutful backward, overhead and into the waiting bucket of her mahout.

As swiftly as they'd taken their dip, the members of the group left the river. We returned to the dirt yard near the terraced hillside, while the elephants were being prepared for our trek through the jungle (about $9 a person extra).

The air felt peaceful now, hot and empty, with only the urgent hiss of locusts overhead. We waited patiently, squinting at the forest canopy and listening to the hollow clunk of bamboo bells as our rides -- heavy teak benches now secured around their massive bodies -- fell into line.

The practice of marching single file is a learned behavior for the elephants, but it is one they've been practicing for hundreds of years. Before rail and car travel reached Thailand, elephant caravans were the only reliable way to get around. Today, elephant treks are used primarily to get through the rough mountain terrain and dense jungles of the north.